


Light on the Land

by LowDawn (EmpiricalBias)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Swap, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gencio Week 2 prompt: Rainy Days, M/M, no explicit nsfw, one-night stand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpiricalBias/pseuds/LowDawn
Summary: Minas cheese is often served with goiabada, a sweet product made out of guavas similar to quince cheese. When these two flavors are combined, it is known as romeu-e-julieta.





	

It’s to the roll of thunder and a light, soothing melody over bass and snare that Genji opens his eyes, finding the blinds pulled over the windows and the music soft enough that he can hear rain rattle the panes as he yawns. He stretches, slow and unhurried, then sniffs. Coffee and toast, and under that: the faintest hint of a lightly scented body lotion. Earthy, but sweet. Not his.

His fingers curl into the sheets, briefly, before he lets go, to get up and look for his shirt.

He doesn’t find it. What he finds instead is his wallet and phone, and a note on the dresser telling him that his things are being laundered, and several sets of clothing inside the second shelf that are approximately his size.

“Bom dia,” his host greets, glancing over his shoulder as Genji shuffles out of the bedroom; when Genji parrots the greeting he glances back again, this time with a knowing quirk in his lip as he transfers the contents of a small pan onto a plate with a deft hand, and picks up two empty mugs from a drying rack with the other. His skin is dark, his locs long and tied back. “Sleep well?”

“Um,” Genji says, hovering in the doorframe, eyeing the athletic shorts and sleeveless tee before realizing the man wearing them is cooking enough food for two. “Yes, thank you.” He picks through his brain for the vocabulary he’s learned, then gives up and settles for English. Too many nuances he hasn’t picked up well enough for his liking yet. “You didn’t have to...”

An exasperated look is turned his direction, but it’s friendly, and takes Genji off guard at how effortlessly it fails to set him on edge. “I know.”

Genji stares, a little. The man is fairly attractive.

No, it’s not just that. There’s something else, something about him...

“So, I’m sorry I didn’t wake you,” the conversation continues, connecting volley delivered airily while the coffee pours. He - the man he’d gone home with last night, Genji’s brain supplies belatedly, unhelpfully - shrugs, gesturing with a hand to his own face. Meaning the bags likely still weighing Genji’s eyes. “But you looked really tired, man. I figured you could use the extra rest. And, uh, it’s gonna be a while before your pants are done drying. Just so you know.”

Genji smiles; he can recognize an excuse being _handed_ to him when he sees one. “I was,” he admits. Then, because he is still a guest, “I would hate to impose.”

“You aren’t.” The answering smile is a reflection of his, but more amused. “Sit.”

He does, politely, in the connected living area. The kitchenette is small, but standard for a room this size, and comes with a small fridge and working stove - styled after the more sophisticated, long-term residency hotels he’s seen more frequently in Europe and Asia. On his shoulders the shirt he is borrowing is soft, worn with use; in contrast, the pajama bottoms are fairly new, but clearly too long to fit on his host. On Genji's taller figure the fabric rucks up at the pockets, just the right length but a little too narrow in the hips to be comfortable. Curious.

Outside the larger window here, rain continues to pour. Genji glances the other way and finds the source of the music atop the coffee table, the tune now a remix of something he recognizes.

“Nujabes?” he asks, taking a mug and a plate of breakfast when it is handed to him.

“Yeah,” grins - ah _,_ and here Genji berates himself, realizing he has forgotten the man’s name. “Nujabes and Daft Punk, actually. One of my friends made this mashup.”

Rude of him, to forget. But his smile is bright, and lovely in his eyes; Genji thinks to himself that he wouldn’t mind learning it again, sometime. Pieces and parts of the night before begin to filter back as the stranger takes a swallow of his coffee. The motion strikes him as familiar. As do the lines of his shoulders. And his lean, muscled biceps, as he leans down and sits - close enough for it to be familiar, for their thighs to brush.

Genji - doesn’t move.

He tries the coffee, somewhat surprised at himself. “It’s nice.” The coffee is good. Just the right amount of sugar. “You have many friends who work with music?”

That earns him a double take, and then a thoughtful hum. “Oh, right. I never told you?”

“Tell me what?” he asks, reaching for the toasted rolls on his plate, and a knife. There is fruit jam and a solidified jelly of some kind, and butter, as well as several quarters of guava. And two perfect eggs over easy, as if in apology for the lack of protein.

“I’m a musician,” his host informs him matter-of-factly, between popping pieces of his own roll into his mouth. He leans against the couch and rubs at his chin, where a patch of black hair sits neatly trimmed. “Well, we did meet at a bar. I thought I’d mentioned it, though.”

“Did you mention that you can cook?” Genji asks, starting to put more of the pieces together. A bar, a drink, a place to stay the night. A meal hadn’t been in the cards, as far as he can recall; but it’s raining, there’s nowhere for him to be, and his company knows ambiance and Nujabes _._

The stranger laughs. “No,” he says, “But if I’d known that would have won you over, Genji, I would have gone with that first— hey, you ok?”

Genji manages to nod. The coughing he waves off as a piece of toast lodged in his throat. He pretends to wash it down with coffee, and tries to refuse juice when it’s offered to him (he fails, and the three mugs end up sitting in a judgmental triangle on the table, mocking him).

 _What kind of idiot just_ gives _his name away like that?_ he thinks, and if he felt bad a little earlier he’s feeling absolutely worse now. But it’s too late to take it back, and he hasn’t got one in return to make up for it. There’s nothing to do but shrug it off. Besides, his brother isn’t here to spit at him for the mistake, so he’ll live.

The line of reasoning is both very effective and incredibly sobering.

“This is good.” Desperate to move past his embarrassment, Genji raises the other half of his roll, slathered with jam and what he’d thought was butter, but turned out to be cheese. It’s soft and moist, and a little bit grainy.

“Try it with this,” the stranger nods, at the jelly on the plates; he’s already eaten his rolls while Genji worked through the egg, and now sits crunching quietly on the fruit, bemused and expectant as he watches Genji do as he’s told. “Good?” he prompts, when the younger man's eyebrows go up at the taste.

“Yes,” Genji says, polishing off the last of the bread, jelly, and cheese with an ease that unconsciously betrays his hunger. “It’s delicious. Do you cook often?”

“Sometimes. I’m pretty busy, but the days I get to spend in, I don’t want to leave so early, you know? Plus,”- and there it is, that smile, again -“it doesn’t hurt to impress the visitors a little.”

The two of them have never met before yesterday, and a casual one-off like that _really_ shouldn’t inspire a curl of disappointment to sit heavy in Genji’s gut like it does. He’s done much the same, and said much the same, tens of dozens of times over. Smooth lines and a disarming smile, knife tricks and money instead of breakfast and coffee. He used to play that game too, however different the details are. He knows he's not special.

And yet.

“Well,” he says, painting on a smile, “consider me impressed.”

The feeling will dissipate with time. Maybe even faster than he expects. He has no connection to this place, or this man, not really.

So it surprises him, as he sits in the dim light that filters through the window and the storming weather outside and the music that’s still playing over it all, when he realizes all of a sudden that he sort of _wants_ —

“Take your time. And have the juice too, it’s already poured out. I’m gonna go check on your pants, alright?”

"Alright," Genji echoes faintly, and then the man, whom he had slept with because he’d needed to (and _wanted,_ too), who has dark eyes and a beautiful smile, and speaks with a voice that _against all reason_ invites his confidence, reaches out - and the press of a comforting hand against the back of his neck shocks him into silence, and the press of warm lips to the corner of his brow steals his breath.

His heart is racing. Aching. Drowning. All three at once.

The expression on the stranger’s face as he draws back is unfathomably soft.

“My name is Lúcio, by the way,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I'm not Brazilian, and google is my best friend.
> 
> Best listened to together: [Light on the Land](https://youtu.be/I6z1Bm3iINQ) \+ [Rain and Thunder](https://youtu.be/V9Xu6mkacg8)


End file.
